


Hold Me Tight And Whisper Soft Words

by eeyore9990



Series: December Gift Fic Spree [28]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Stiles Has Nightmares, references self-medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How two idiots in love stumbled their way back-asswards into a depressingly platonic D/s(ish) relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Tight And Whisper Soft Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jonjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonjo/gifts).



> December Fic Spree, Day 28: Gift for jonjokeat!
> 
> Happy December 28th!

"I can't—" Stiles stopped, choking on the words, pressing the phone to his head as he squeezed his eyes shut, everything _too much_.

" _Stiles._ " The voice on the other end was sharp, filled with command. 

"Derek," Stiles whispered. "Help me?"

_"I'm on my way."_

—

"You aren't sleeping," were the first words out of Derek's mouth as soon as Stiles opened the door to his dorm room. 

"I… I try. But I can't." Through the haze of exhaustion that had settled over him weeks ago, Stiles noticed Derek still standing in the hallway and fell back, holding the door open for Derek to come in. Derek either didn't notice or didn't want to, because he stayed where he was, his eyebrows drawn down and mouth set in a grim line.

"Tell me."

Stiles' shoulders sagged and he nodded. "Come in." When the door was safely shut and locked behind Derek, Stiles stepped over to his bed, climbing onto it and pressing his back into the corner as he faced Derek. 

"I _can't_ sleep. I've tried. I even took pills one night—" 

Derek's head popped up and his eyes flared bright blue, teeth baring at Stiles. "What."

" _Sleeping_ pills. One of my lab partners has a prescription for them. It wasn't anything bad and I only had half of one, but I thought… if I could just sleep once, you know? But it was worse than ever that night. I didn't try it again."

"You can't _do_ things like that, idiot! With your ADHD and the meds you're on for that—" When Stiles flinched, looking down, Derek growled low in his throat. "You _are_ still taking your meds, Stiles. Tell me you are."

"I… not all the time. I had to quit one of my jobs this semester and I don't want to ask dad for the money for them, so I'm only taking them on days I have classes and—"

"That stops now." Derek crawled onto the bed, lifting Stiles' chin from where he'd dropped it, hiding behind his upraised knees. "I told you, all of you, to call me if you needed money. Stiles…"

Anger flushed through Stiles, whiting out the exhaustion for just a moment. "I don't want to be some charity case!"

"You're not. That's not what this is about and you're smart enough to realize that. I want you to call in the morning and refill your prescription. I'll pay for it and any others you need. What about food?"

Stiles yanked his chin away. "I'm fine for food. I have a meal plan through the school."

"And that covers all your meals? Weekends too?"

Stiles nodded, fingers plucking at his tangled sheets. 

"Okay. Then tell me what's going on. The not sleeping, the not taking meds… those are symptoms, not the underlying issue."

Pressing his hands to his forehead, Stiles shrugged.

_"Stiles!"_

"I don't know! I don't know what's wrong. I don't even know when it started, not really. I'm just… I have nightmares." He pressed his eyes to his knees, which muffled his words, but he knew Derek would hear him. "I have nightmares that are so bad, I wake myself up screaming." Gesturing at the other bed across from his, upon which lay a bare mattress, he added, "My roommate asked for a room change."

"What are the nightmares about?" 

"Everything. My mother, Erica, Boyd, Allison, the Alpha Pack, the Nogitsune, the fucking Kanima. Gerard. Kate. The last few… you." He felt the bed rock under him as Derek flinched.

"You're afraid of me?"

Lifting his head, Stiles frowned, blinking to focus weary eyes. "What? No. I mean, when you were all… bleeding out. Dying in fucking Mexico. I see that, but it always just ends with you dead. I can't… I can't separate the truth in my dreams. And it's just… lately it's easier not to sleep. If I don't sleep, I don't wake up screaming. Or have panic attacks. Or… I can't make my brain stop. It just…" He stabbed his fingers into his hair, curling them into fists and tugging until his scalp ached. "I can't make it stop."

"Okay."

A bitter laugh burst from him and Stiles looked at Derek, despair filling him. "Okay? No, it's fucking _not_ okay."

Derek reached forward and gripped Stiles' chin hard, jerking his head up until Stiles was looking straight into his eyes. "It will be. Tell me you believe me."

Stiles opened his mouth but nothing came out. Because how could it be? How could anything be okay ever again? His life was falling to fucking pieces and Derek was here telling him this pretty fiction about it being _okay_?

"Stiles. I need you to focus on me. Focus on me and not what you're hearing inside your head. Can you do that?"

Stiles blinked, but nodded. "Y-yeah. Of course."

"Then listen to me." There was a weight to Derek's voice, something that thrummed through Stiles. He imagined this was what it had been like for Derek's betas, back when Derek'd had his alpha powers. Because Stiles couldn't _not_ listen. Everything in him yearned toward Derek, felt compelled to hang on his every word. "It. Will be. Okay."

Stiles sagged where he sat, the fight going out of him. "Okay." Then, because even though he might be falling apart and going out of his fucking mind, he was still _Stiles_ , he demanded, "Tell me how."

"I'm going to make it that way. Do you trust me?" 

There went that weight again, making Stiles pause and consider his answer carefully. "Yes. Of course I do."

"Then you're going to do everything I tell you to do. No questions. No arguments. Can you agree to that?"

Stiles swallowed down an automatic, cheeky retort and nodded. He'd agree to anything if it made everything stop.

"Stand up." 

The words were an order to be obeyed, and as such were difficult for Stiles. But he swallowed down his instant reaction and stood, wobbling a little on shaky legs. 

Derek's hand landed at the back of his neck, warm and firm and steady. Squeezing, Derek drew Stiles forward until their foreheads were pressed together. A flood of warm emotion swamped Stiles when Derek murmured, "Good." 

Letting him go, Derek stepped back, dropped his hands to rest loosely at his sides. "Now, tell me what your schedule is like for tomorrow." 

Stiles closed his eyes, pushing aside emotion and exhaustion to clear a space in his head for _thought_. "I have one class at ten, another at one, and then I work from four 'til seven."

"What time will you eat?" 

"Uh, breakfast before my first class, lunch just after my last class and then I'll pick something up on my way to work."

"And studying?"

"Honestly? I usually do my homework at work during downtime and finish anything here after I get off." Stiles pried his eyes open, hating the dry, gritty feel of them.

"How are your grades?"

"With everything else falling apart, I'm actually maintaining my GPA. I have no idea how." Then, because Derek might not remember him crowing about it after midterms, he added, "Um. I'm carrying a four point oh."

Derek's pleased smile made his chest swell with pride.

"All right. I want you to get ready for bed. Shower, brush your teeth, put on whatever you usually sleep in. If you need my assistance at any point, I expect you to ask for it. At _any_ point." 

"Uh. You know I'm not going to be able to—"

"Stiles." Derek's voice was hard and sounded like he should be flashing fangs, but his hands were still loose at his sides, his lips full and soft instead of compressed into a frown or stretched across too many pointy teeth. "You asked for my help. You promised to do everything I tell you to. For tonight, _let me_ help. I promise to only ask what I know you can give."

Stiles let out a breath and nodded, walking around Derek to his dresser. Pulling free a pair of boxers, he picked up his towel from the back of his desk chair and shoved his feet in a pair of shower shoes before grabbing his shampoo and soap. Turning back to Derek, he looked at him for a long minute and said, "Thanks."

Derek placed his hand on the back of Stiles' neck again, giving him another little squeeze. "You never have to thank me. Not for this."

—

Stiles woke slowly, feeling like his entire body was drugged, numb. He tried to roll over, but couldn't coordinate his sleep-groggy limbs enough to do so. It was only after he finally got his index finger to twitch at his command did he realize that he wasn't alone.

There were arms wrapped around him, holding him tight to a warm chest. If he concentrated, he could feel the rush of air over the back of his neck as whoever it was steadily exhaled.

"D'rek?" Stiles mumbled, turning his head. 

"Shh," Derek murmured, his own voice husky with sleep. "It's not time to wake up. Go back to sleep."

Stiles let his heavy lids fall shut, agreeing wholeheartedly with that plan, though curiosity made him ask, "Time's it?"

"Five am."

Stiles wrinkled his nose at that answer and let sleep swamp him once more.

He woke again minutes later to a voice softly calling his name. Peeling open his eyes, he rolled them around until he found the source of the voice. 

It was Derek, of course, hair wet and whole body smelling like Stiles' body wash. "Wake up, Stiles. It's eight thirty. If you're going to have time for coffee with your breakfast, you need to get up and get dressed."

Stiles just blinked at him, brain muzzy. When Derek's words finally sank in, he jerked upright, heart pounding with a sudden rush of adrenaline. "Eight _thirty_?! Holy shit, I—"

"Don't have class for another hour and a half. Your clothes are laid out on the other bed and your bag is packed already. Remember?"

Though most of the previous evening was a blur of exhaustion, Stiles vaguely recalled Derek browbeating him into getting his things prepared ahead of time. He also remembered Derek sliding into bed behind him, pulling him in tight against Derek's chest and ordering him in a murmur to, "Sleep."

The amazing part was... he had.

"How long?" Stiles asked, disbelief making his voice a whisper.

"It shouldn't take you more than fifteen minutes to get ready."

"No. How long was I...asleep?" Lifting his eyes to Derek's face, he couldn't help but notice a bit of towel fuzz clinging to the stubble just below Derek's jaw. He reached up, thumbing it away, his fingers aching to linger when he noticed Derek's lips curving up in a small, genuine smile.

"You fell asleep just before nine last night. You slept almost twelve hours."

"Shit," Stiles breathed, stunned.

"You needed it. Now, though, you need to get up. You need food and your meds." 

Throwing back the covers, Stiles stumbled to his feet and looked around, feeling hungover and disoriented. Derek grabbed his arm when he swayed, nearly falling back to the bed. 

"Or you could stay here," he muttered. "Email your professor."

Stiles waved his hands around, dislodging Derek's grip on him. "No, no, no. I'm fine. I just need to splash water— I usually shower in the morning. It helps me wake my brain up." Stiles chattered about his morning routine all the way into the bathroom, through his morning piss, and even while brushing his teeth.

He pulled on his clothes in front of Derek, long past the point of body consciousness around a dude who regularly turned into a giant black wolf. When he was dressed, he slipped his wallet into his pocket, rolled on a little deodorant under his shirt, and called it good. Checking his backpack to make sure he'd remembered everything the previous night, he turned back to Derek with a smile and said, "Wow. Um. Thanks, dude. I know you have to get back, but how about you let me treat you to shitty cafeteria coffee first?"

—

When Stiles got home from work that night, he slipped off his shoes just inside the door, turned around to sling his backpack to the floor, and let out a high-pitched scream that he'd deny forever.

"Jesus _H._ Christ, Derek! What the fuck? I thought you'd grown out of this creepy lurking shit two years ago."

Derek just shot him a flat glance from behind Stiles' open laptop, and returned to whatever it was he was doing. Though he did ask idly, "What does the H stand for, I wonder?"

"Probably _holy shit there's a werewolf in my bed_."

"And you thought _your_ name was awful."

Walking further into the room, Stiles plopped down on the bed and nudged Derek's leg. "Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?"

"I'm staying until I know you're better. One night of decent sleep isn't going to fix your problems. Oh, and I picked up your meds for you." Derek jerked his chin toward the empty dresser on what should have been his roommate's side of the room.

"Wait, what? _How_?"

Derek shifted on the bed, pulling something from his back pocket and flicking it toward Stiles, who fumbled it to the floor before reaching down and picking it up. "My _driver's license_?! What the hell? When did you...?"

"This morning before you woke up."

"What if I needed it? _What if I got pulled over?!_ "

"You didn't." When Stiles just gaped at him, Derek leaned over and gently lifted his chin. "Stop freaking out. It's fine."

"It's really not, dude. You could have told me."

Derek lowered the lid on Stiles' laptop, looking at him for a long, intense moment before he nodded. "You're right. I apologize. I abused your trust in me."

Stiles flapped his hands, scooching next to Derek. "Shit, dude, I wouldn't go that far. Just, you know. Sheriff's son here. Identification can be really important."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Okay, just... What are you doing?" As awkward subject changes go, it wasn't actually the worst since Stiles really was curious.

"Looking into investment opportunities."

"Dude, that's a real estate website," Stiles couldn't help pointing out when the iconic air balloon logo caught his eye.

"Real estate is one of the best investments out there."

Stiles didn't really take Econ or business courses, but that kinda sounded wrong. "In this economy?" 

Derek shrugged. "Short term market swings aren't really that detrimental to me. Plus..."

"Plus?"

Lips twisting, Derek moved the pointer back and forth. "It might not be _just_ an investment?"

Stiles' attention zeroed in on the website again, making note of the zip code Derek was searching in. "Please tell me you're not buying me a house."

"I'm not buying you a house. I'm buying _me_ a condo... that I would like you to think about moving into with me."

Stiles crossed his legs under him and turned his whole body toward Derek's. Derek, for his part, stared so hard at the screen that Stiles was surprised a hole didn't open up in the damn thing. "Moving into... with you. Derek." Stiles waited patiently for Derek to shift his gaze from the screen to the tip of Stiles' nose. "You live in Beacon Hills."

"So do you."

"Okay, yes. But also no. Because I go to school _here._ After I graduate, I plan to move back, but that's not... There's no guarantee. I may not be able to get a job back home. I might have to live somewhere else. You actually live there."

Derek shrugged. "I own property there. Property that a developer wants to purchase for more than I paid for it." 

"So, what... One night of weakness and you suddenly feel like you have to take care of me?" Anger began coiling through Stiles at that thought.

"No. This..." Derek scrubbed a hand over his face. "Isaac and Scott and Liam have Beacon Hills under control. And Deaton. I guess."

"And Dad and Parrish and Chris."

"Right. Cora's settled in South America with her pack. You're the only one without pack support."

"So you _do_ feel like you have to take care of me."

"No! It's..." Derek made a frustrated sound, tapping the edge of Stiles' laptop hard enough that Stiles lifted it straight off his lap. Throwing him an apologetic glance, Derek asked softly, "Don't you realize what's happening? Don't you _feel_ it? I thought you did, but maybe not."

Stiles swallowed hard. Three years and they'd never acknowledged the current that thrummed between them. Surely Derek wasn't bringing it up _now._

"You're such a part of the pack," Derek rushed to say. "An important element. I think maybe part of the issues you're facing are because you're too far away to feel the strength of the pack. You're cut off here. Out of our territory and away from even the thinnest physical ties to your pack. What you're going through... It's what makes omegas so dangerous. When a wolf loses their pack, they go insane."

Fear sliced through Stiles like a knife. "I'm not a wolf."

"No. But you _are_ pack." Derek reached out, tugging gently on the laptop. "Trust me?"

Stiles released it with a choked noise, going easily when Derek lifted his arm in invitation. Breathing in on a three-count of Derek's heartbeat, Stiles released it in a rush and settled in, pointing wordlessly to a three bedroom condo that had a gym and pool facilities. He tried to ignore the fear that sat like a lump in his belly. _Omega?_

"I do," Stiles finally said, long minutes later.

"Hmm?"

"I trust you."

—

Derek came running into his room, crawled into bed with him, and wrapped his arms around Stiles' shaking body, shushing him until his frightened cries stopped. "This was supposed to help," Derek whispered, the same mantra he'd been beating himself up with for the last three weeks.

"It's not as bad as it was," Stiles said, his voice hoarse still, reciting the lines almost by rote. "I'm getting a solid three hours of sleep every night before screaming myself awake, at least."

"Stiles. This isn't…"

"Stop." Curling into Derek's wide chest, he nudged his head up under Derek's chin and said, "Just stop. This isn't on you. It's not your fault. I am a dude with many issues, okay?"

"There has to be a way to make it stop."

"I'm seeing that therapist. I'm taking my meds. I'm eating regularly. I'm working and going to school and succeeding in basically every aspect of my life but this one." Shrugging, Stiles leaned harder against Derek until they were stretched out on top of his — ridiculously expensive, thank you Derek Hale's trust fund — bed. "Maybe I should just be thankful for what I have."

"You need to _sleep_. More than three hours. It's not healthy for you to keep on like this."

Stiles dug his chin into Derek's chest in irritation. "Dude, we've tried everything, okay? If I drink anymore warm milk, my bones are going to burst through my skin like the Hulk through his purple pants. I just need to…"

"Sleep." Derek's frustrated grunt literally made Stiles' head bounce on his chest. "What was different that first night? At your dorm?"

Stiles shrugged, trying to nudge his brain back that far. "I barely remember that night," he finally muttered. "I just remember you showing up, us talking, and then you telling me to go to sleep."

Derek's arms wrapped firmly around him at that, and with a weary sounding sigh, he said, "Well, fuck. Maybe that's the answer." Slinging one leg over both of Stiles', Derek lowered his head until he was speaking directly into Stiles' ear and said, "Go to sleep, Stiles."

—

Stiles twirled his spaghetti around his fork, darting quick glances at Derek while he pushed his food around. "Um."

"Oh thank god," Derek said, setting his own utensils down. Folding his hands, he looked across the table at Stiles. "You've been gearing up to say something for three days now. Your nerves are making _me_ nervous. What's going on?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You know that's really not fair at all, right? You can't just werewolf supersense me all the time."

"That's not even a verb."

"Good thing I'm not an English major." Dropping his fork with a clatter, Stiles said, "Okay, look. So I feel like we've got my sleeping issues worked out. And I wanted to like, offer to let you have the condo this weekend. To yourself. I'm gonna," he shrugged, "go up and visit Dad or something. So you can have some, uh. Privacy."

Derek blinked at him, eyebrows pulling together. "It's been a _week_ , Stiles. I don't think we can really call you cured. Especially since you've had two nights where you did wake up from nightmares."

"Yeah, but I went back to sleep after them. I mean, I've actually managed _eight solid hours_ of sleep every night this week. Well, except Thursday, but that was totally not my fault."

"It was never your fault," Derek said, stretching his hand over the table and capturing Stiles'. "Your nightmares were not your fault, Stiles."

"No, I… yeah. I mean, I know. Dr. Hammond, you know," Stiles waved his free hand around. "I just, um. You know, the fire alarm malfunction and the standing at the curb at two in the morning while the fire department checked all the condos for the source of the alarm… Not anything we could have avoided?"

Derek nodded, but left his hand where it was. "Right."

"And, umm. So I couldn't help but notice that you've been… on the phone a lot? Lately? And leaving the room to take the calls. Which makes me think, you know, romantic subplots ahoy!" Stiles tried to smile around the squeeze of his heart, but was pretty sure it fell flat. "So I thought I'd clear out for the weekend. Let you have the place to yourself and, uh. Anyone you might want to invite over."

Derek's fingers spasmed where they were still curled over Stiles' hand. "I... You think I have a… girlfriend?"

"Oh, you know. Boyfriend. Either way."

Blowing out a breath, Derek sat all the way back in his seat, taking his hand with him and leaving Stiles feeling the slightest bit bereft. "Okay, that. No. I mean, you can definitely go home to visit your dad if you want. That's totally up to you. But I don't have a…" Derek bit his lip, scowling down at the table. "I should have told you."

"Dude. It's fine. You're allowed to have a personal life. Just, you know," Stiles waved his hands around. "Let me know when you need some alone time."

"Stiles. I don't have a personal life. I mean…" Derek rolled his eyes. "I don't have any need to be alone. That's not what the phone calls have been about." Shoving his plate out of the way, Derek began to drum his fingers on the table, one slightly too-long fingernail interrupting the rhythm with every pass. "Okay. I've been talking to a dominatrix."

Stiles' plate crashed to the floor. All on its own. Stiles stared down at it in pity and understanding because he was shocked enough to throw himself down beside it. 

Blinking up at Derek, Stiles opened and closed his mouth roughly a hundred and fifty times, trying to find something to say to that. "Open minded," is what finally blurted from him. "I am, I mean. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. Dominatrix. Whatever floats your boat, dude." And then, thinking about that, Stiles scowled. "No. Actually, no, I'm gonna go with less open minded on this one. You're letting someone _beat you up_? Why? I thought you were past blaming yourself for shit that wasn't your fault."

"What? No, no. Not for me. For you."

Stiles rocked back on two legs of his chair, nearly toppling over. "What. You want someone to beat _me_ up? What the absolute fuck, Derek?"

"No, no, no. I… oh my god this is coming out wrong." Blowing out a breath, Derek sat up and looked straight at Stiles. "I need you to listen and not interrupt. And stop thinking three steps ahead." At Stiles' reluctant nod, Derek began to speak haltingly. "As we've both noticed, you sleep better if I tell you to. I thought maybe there was a little more at play there, and I was looking up things online and found a local dominatrix. A professional one. Which… was not the thing I was actually looking for. But when I explained our situation to her, she started talking to me about dominance and submission—"

"Which is not the same thing." Stiles had to bite down on a smile.

"No. Apparently not." Derek's cheeks went a little ruddy with a blush, but he huffed out a laugh at his own expense. "Anyway, though, she's been sort of helping me figure things out. Do some research and everything."

Stiles gave a slow blink because Derek's roundabout explanation suddenly clicked for him. "You… are doing research into D/s for me?"

"I mean, it's just one avenue to explore? It's probably not—"

"Wait. Stop." Stiles stared across at Derek, trying to find his words. "Why?"

"I want to help you. I know it's unusual, but I think there might be something we can take from it. To help you."

Stiles pressed his hands flat to the table, counting his fingers idly before he nodded and stood up. "I'm going to clean this up. And then I'm going to go for a run." 

—

Stiles shut the door and turned to find Derek standing in the hallway, looking at him with a blank and shuttered expression. A bead of sweat trickled down Stiles' spine as he stared back. Stepping forward, he ignored the squeak of his running shoes on the floor and said, "I trust you. I feel _safe_ with you."

Derek's eyes warmed up several degrees at that. "I trust you too. More than… anyone."

The first drop on a rollercoaster couldn't make Stiles' stomach swoop like that one admission from Derek did. Smiling, Stiles moved closer still and said, "It's hard, sometimes, for me to get out of my own way. It's like my idea of what I should be overwhelms everything else."

"You're a stubborn little shit, you mean."

"Whoa, Mr. Pot. As a kettle, I find that hilariously hypocritical." When Derek reached out and pulled him close, Stiles went easily, wrapping his sweaty arms around Derek and tilting his head so that Derek could bury his nose in Stiles' neck. After a long minute of soaking up the warmth of Derek's body, Stiles sighed and said, "I think I'm ready to talk about the whole D/s thing. Just… I mean, you've met me, right?"

"Yeah. You're argumentative and couldn't obey an order if it was to save your life." Derek's words were muffled into Stiles' neck until he pulled back with a blissed-out sigh, eyes hazy with the contentment he got from pack cuddles. "But I still think there are things we can take from it that might help you. Maybe if we consider them suggestions instead of orders. Advice versus commands?"

"Sure, whatever. I know your secret now. You're a big ol' kinkster. You just want me to dress up like slave Leia and flop around on pillows all day." Stiles pinched Derek's side and walked into the living room, yelping when Derek popped him on the ass in retaliation.

"That's ridiculous," Derek said, rolling his eyes. "You don't have the figure for the slave Leia costume." He let his hands hover over his chest suggestively and Stiles barked out a sharp laugh. 

"Dude, we live in California. Silicone is practically a religious requirement here."

Derek wrinkled his nose. "Okay, I think we've officially dragged that joke out too far."

"Hah! Drag… good one." Stiles caught the split-second of confusion in Derek's expression and laughed harder. "Oh my god, unintentional puns are the best."

"Anyway," Derek said, rolling his eyes. "I figured we'd try a few things, see if anything works for you, and take it from there."

"Anything in particular?" Stiles asked, trying to tamp down on the flare of interest from his libido. 

"I have a list."

"Of course you do."

—

Stiles leaned back against Derek's legs, tapping away absently on his keyboard as he wrote up a paper for one of his classes. Derek's fingers carding through his hair kept him in a nicely relaxed state, and helped his thoughts flow more freely onto the page. At the end of a paragraph, Stiles closed up his laptop and set it on the coffee table, curling up and setting his head on Derek's knee, closing his eyes as Derek's touches continued unabated.

They'd discovered they both enjoyed this, this petting that to any outsider would smack of a more intimate relationship than what they actually shared. Long hugs, cuddles on the couch, Derek burrowing into Stiles after he'd done anything that raised a sweat. Stiles knew by the time he saw Scott again, there would be questions raised about the two of them, ones he didn't really know how to answer.

Because for all that their relationship had stayed firmly platonic, Stiles longed for more. With the return of a normal sleep cycle, his body had perked up. Most mornings saw him waking with a hard on that took an increasingly long time in the shower to deal with. It didn't help that Derek liked to snuffle his face against Stiles' first thing in the morning, arms tightening around Stiles' chest as he did so.

It also didn't help that Derek had discovered that Stiles became more pliant if he put his large hand to the back of his neck and squeezed. He did that now, all the time, accompanied by low murmurs of things like "relax" and "you've studied enough." Stiles found himself obeying without a thought to that touch, that voice, and some part of him worried that he was becoming too needy. Too dependent. But the rest of him just rolled with it. 

Derek's constant reminders to Stiles that open communication was necessary were a little wearing. Not because he disagreed, but because he knew that one day he'd open his mouth and ask for the thing he really wanted. The thing that would send this all crashing down around him.

—

"Are we going to Beacon Hills next Friday or do you want to wait until later?" Derek asked as he spread toothpaste on his toothbrush. 

Stiles shrugged, spitting out a mouthful of foam. "I don't care. My last class is Thursday, and Maurice is closing the shop 'til the first anyway, so it's not like I need to hang around for work."

Derek nodded, scrubbing at his teeth. Extending his fangs, he went through the whole process again before rinsing and spitting. "Yeah," he finally said, nudging Stiles to the side so he could reach the mouthwash. "I figured. I just wasn't sure if there were any parties or anything you wanted to go to."

"Dude, in the month and a half we've been living together, have I _ever_ gone to a party?"

Caught mid-gargle, Derek just side-eyed Stiles.

"Nah, I mean, I'm just not that guy anymore. Mostly it just always seems like an enormous waste of money. And I mean, I'm actually saving enough money living with you that I have a fucking _savings_ account, but I just… I dunno. I'd rather not waste my time or money on that shit anymore. God, does that make me _old_?"

"Yes," Derek said, handing over the mouthwash before turning and walking back into the bedroom. 

Stiles swished the mouthwash between his teeth at Derek threateningly before spitting and turning off the light. Running and jumping onto the bed, he made sure to hit Derek with at least one knee and both elbows before Derek caught him and wrestled him around into the little spoon position. Pulling him firmly against Derek's chest, Derek dropped his face against the back of Stiles' neck and breathed softly, waiting to see if Stiles had anything further to add to the conversation.

After a full three minutes ticked silently by on the clock, Derek tightened his arms and murmured, "Sleep."

—

"Stiles." Derek's hand curved around the back of Stiles' neck, squeezing and pulling him toward Derek, who rested their foreheads together until the nervousness that Stiles had been feeling in increasing intensity for the last two days finally melted away. "What's wrong?" Derek asked, his voice soft, the words washing over Stiles' skin, smelling a little garlic-y.

"It's just," Stiles closed his eyes, feeling himself sink into that space where there was nothing but Derek's voice. "We'll be home in two days."

"And?"

"And there'll be questions. From the pack. About… us."

Derek's fingers slipped a little, jarring Stiles from his relaxed state. "You don't," he started, his voice a little gruff. "You can say whatever you want. Whatever's easiest."

"Well, it's not really that easy though, is it? I mean. Describe our relationship in ten words or less. It's impossible."

"Does it matter?" Derek's quiet question cut through the clanging chaos in Stiles' head, made him think.

"No. Not really. I mean, worse comes to worst, I just tell them to fuck off. We don't owe anyone anything. But then they'd think there was something more than what there is, and I don't want to do that to you."

Derek drew back, staring into Stiles' face, his eyebrows frowning heavily. "What?"

"What what?"

"You said you don't want to 'do that to me.' What does that mean?"

"Oh." Stiles shrugged. "I mean, I just don't want them to assume you're doing something you wouldn't."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Stiles stared at Derek. "We are talking about the same thing, right? Or is this another dominatrix conversation?"

"I suppose that depends on what you meant," Derek huffs.

"Sex, Derek. I meant sex. They're going to assume we're having sex and…"

"And you think I wouldn't? Stiles… I've had sex."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know, dumbass. I meant with _me_. Specifically. You wouldn't have sex with _me_. I don't want their mistaken conclusions to make you uncomfortable. So—"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"What?"

"Why wouldn't I have sex with you?"

Stiles blinked, opening and closing his mouth. "Welllll. I guess I just assumed that if you wanted to have sex with me, we'd have done it by now?"

Derek squeezed the back of Stiles' neck. Unfairly, the giant dork. "Stiles," he murmured, his voice dropping to that _I'm going to tell you to do something and I want you to do it_ register. "Do we need to talk about redefining the parameters of our relationship?"

"Whaaaat."

"I have been sleeping in the same bed as you for… a while." Derek's tone was pointed, but Stiles still couldn't figure out exactly which direction it was pointing _in_.

"That's true," he finally said, the uptick of his voice turning it into a question.

"Every morning when we wake up, you're… aroused. But you have never once even hinted that—"

"Whoa my god, what. Are you… Derek. Has sex been an option this _whole time_?" Stiles flailed so hard he accidentally smacked Derek in the chest.

Derek captured Stiles hands, absently smoothing his thumb over the one that was still stinging from its collision with his wall of freaking muscles. "Well, not the _whole_ time. Your dad threatened me with wolfsbane bullets if I touched you before you graduated, but then—" 

Derek's words were interrupted by the swift application of Stiles' mouth. "I can't believe," he muttered, pulling back just long enough to bitch grumpily, "that we could have been doing this for _all this time_ and we haven't been. How do you have super werewolf senses and _not_ realize how into you I am?"

"I kept telling you to _say something_. I already feel like I forced this whole relationship on you, I—"

"No." Stiles kissed that worry right off Derek's lips. "You didn't force anything on me. Derek… this thing works. Even if nothing else comes from it, _this_ works." Stiles gestured around him at everything in the condo, everything they'd created together. "That's why I _didn't_ say anything. I didn't want to fuck up what we have. I didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything more than what you've already done."

Derek dragged Stiles forward again, placing gentle kisses all over his face before brushing their cheeks together with a sigh. "We suck at communicating."

"Nah. We just suck at asking for _more_." Snuggling closer, Stiles murmured, "There's nothing you can say to me to scare me away. Ever. I don't care what it is. After the dominatrix thing, you should know that."

Derek made a disgruntled noise. "You're never going to let me live that down."

"Because it's fucking adorable. As adorable as George."

"I still can't believe you named the stain on the floor." 

"Lies!" Stiles slid his hands onto Derek's ass and squeezed, enjoying the freedom to do so. 

"You're right. I totally believe it. I _have_ met you." Derek ducked his face down, nibbling on Stiles' neck until Stiles began to shift restlessly against him, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the front of his jeans. 

"Hnn, Derek?"

"Mmm?"

Stiles rocked his hips forward, glorying in the little broken sound Derek made. "You know your special 'what Stiles needs' D/s list?"

Derek's arms tightened, almost cutting off Stiles' breath. "Yeah."

"I think we should talk about adding some things to it."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know either. _I have no idea how a college AU dom/sub sterek prompt turned into this._


End file.
